Payback
by iyaorisha
Summary: Spike gets a job. Buffy runs afoul of a brother-sister team of demon bounty hunters. (This is the third story in a series of four. Read "Look What Love Gave Us" and "Unmoved -the Fic" first.)
1. Chapter 1

Payback  
  
By iyaorisha  
  
Timing: AU S7  
  
Pairings: Buffy/Spike (also Xander/Anya)  
  
Summary: Spike gets a job. Buffy runs afoul of a brother-sister team of demon bounty hunters. (This is the third story in a series of four. Read "Look What Love Gave Us" and "Unmoved -the Fic" first.)  
  
Rating/Warnings: R. Violence, language, rape flashback, torture flashback, and M/F sexuality.  
  
Spoilers: None if you've seen S6. References to FFL, the trade novel "Pretty Maids All in a Row", and my fanfics "Relating to a Psychopath", "Look What Love Gave Us" and "Unmoved -the Fic"  
  
Disclaimer: None of the BtVS characters or the world they inhabit belong to me. They belong to Joss and I promise to put them back when I'm done playing with them.  
  
Feedback: Brutal honesty is best (I enjoy floggings, I really do), but warm fuzzies are accepted as well. You can post a review here or email me at fanfic_by_iyaorisha@yahoo.com  
  
***  
Chapter 1  
  
Willow knew that she shouldn't be doing this.   
  
The thought that she might get caught was stultifying. Giles would be disappointed, Buffy furious, and Xander... well she didn't want to think about what Xander would do. She still felt guilty from the last time. But, she had no choice. Things were getting unbearable again and it was such a simple thing to do.  
  
In the darkest corner of the basement, the redhead carefully measured the granules and poured them into the receptacle. Now came the hard part. Willow plunged her hand into the bag. Just touching the fetid objects made her feel unclean. She recoiled and briefly reconsidered what she was about to do.   
  
There would be consequences even if she wasn't caught. After the last incident, Buffy warned Willow that each time she did this, it would be harder to refrain the next time she was tempted. Xander argued that each time she weakened, it only made things worse in the long run. Maybe all that was true, but Willow believed could handle it.   
  
And, besides, how *dare* they challenge her right to do this.   
  
Steeling her shoulders, she brought the reeking things forth and threw them atop the powder. She covered her nose and mouth with one hand as she began pouring a cupful of thick dark liquid over everything.  
  
The basement door opened suddenly. Willow heard someone coming down the stairs. She hurriedly slammed the lid and scurried over to the storage area on the other side of the room. "What are you doing down there, Will?" Buffy called out.  
  
"Um, just looking for my Calculus text from last semester. Remember, I got an Incomplete while I was trying to destroy the world. Well, the Dean says that if I can pass the final exam, I won't need to retake the course."  
  
"That's great! I told you they'd be understanding." The blonde smiled as she took a couple more steps down. "Do you need any help?" Her voice was casual, but it was clear from the look on Buffy's face that the Slayer was deeply relieved.   
  
Willow's heart raced. "No. I'm fine," She stammered. "Why don't you guys go over to Giles' without me. I'm going to study for a couple hours and then I'll join you." She smiled at her best friend to hide the searing guilt of the lie. She held her breath as Buffy went back upstairs and shut the door. As quietly as she could, Willow crept up the stairs and listened at the door.  
  
"...just looking for a text book." Buffy was saying. "I told you, you were worried about nothing, Xan."  
  
"Good, 'cause she promised me after last time that she'd never do it again." The construction worker replied.  
  
Willow leaned against the door. Her heart was heavy with guilt, but she knew that she had to do it. Maybe they could stand living like this, but she couldn't. No matter what her friends said, this wasn't a sign of weakness. It took a decisive will and a strong stomach to do what she was about to do.  
  
Before will or stomach could fail her, Willow darted down the stairs to finish. She drizzled out the last of the viscous solution and shut the lid. Her hand wavered only a bit as she reached out to start the process.  
  
Just then the door opened again and Dawn ran down the stairs. This time, Willow didn't move fast enough. She stood as frozen as a deer in headlights.  
  
"Aha!" the teen said, surveying the scene. "Xander was right."  
  
"Are you going to tell on me, Dawnie?"  
  
The younger Summers chewed a fingernail as she thought. "What will you give me if I don't?"  
  
Willow's shoulders slumped with relief. Buffy's little sister was easy to bribe. Dawn loved junk food so long as it wasn't from the Doublemeat Palace. "How about white chocolate macadamia nut blondies? I could whip up a batch just for you?  
  
Dawn shook her head. "I'm sorry, Willow. I mean, this is the third time. I don't think blondies are going to cut it." The brunette made a move toward the door, her mouth already opening to call her sister and blab everything she'd seen.  
  
"Wait!" Willow racked her brains. "Oh, I know. The blondies, plus I won't tell Buffy what I know about the broken latch on her weapons chest." She gave Dawn a meaningful look.  
  
The teen stood stock-still, aware that she'd overplayed her hand yet again. As nonchalantly as she could, she said, "I don't know anything about a broken latch."  
  
"And neither do I." Willow said. She extended her hand. "Shake on it."  
  
Dawn grudgingly shook hands. As she headed back upstairs, she shook her head. "Really Willow, you've got to stop doing this."  
  
"It's the last time, I swear. I just couldn't stand it anymore."  
  
The teen looked dubious as she closed the door behind her.  
  
"Finally." Willow sighed. She could barely contain her joy as she hit the button for Hot. Spike's clothes tumbled around in the soapy water. "Die, smelly germs, die!" She chanted.  
  
***  
Upstairs, Dawn burst into laughter as she caught sight of Spike sitting at the kitchen table. The blond vampire was wearing a silky lavender shorty robe that belonged to Willow.   
  
"Bloody hell!" He roared. "I thought everyone was gone." Spike tried to tug down the flimsy material that barely covered his leanly muscled thighs. "It's not what you think, Nibblet."  
  
Dawn could barely get in enough oxygen to retort. "Really?! Well, where are your clothes, then?"  
  
Spike looked embarrassed. "You were in the basement. You must know."   
  
Dawn shook her head. "It's not fair that you have Willow doing your laundry, Spike."  
  
He scowled. "Didn't ask her to. In fact, Red insisted."  
  
Dawn rolled her eyes. " Because you weren't ever going to do it yourself and you know that she can't stand the smell of cigarettes."  
  
"Hey!" The bleached vampire looked offended. "I don't smell. I take a shower as soon as I wake up. Sometimes two a night."  
  
That was true. Spike loved showering. He'd stand under the stinging spray for at least an hour, howling the lyrics to something from The Ramones or PIL while his fingers and toes turned all pruney. It was a good thing that he showered around seven at night or there wouldn't be any hot water for Dawn, Buffy, and Willow in the morning. And it didn't matter who pounded on the door. The vampire left the bathroom only after he'd shaved and slicked his naturally curly locks back with what Buffy referred to as "a horrifying amount of gel". Twice a month, he commandeered the bathroom for an even longer period of time while he bleached his hair platinum. Once, he let Dawn help, but Buffy had freaked out. Seemed the Slayer thought it was inappropriate for her little sister to sit in a steamy bathroom with a vampire dressed only in a towel.  
  
So it wasn't B.O. Nonetheless, Spike's clothes still held a peculiar tang of cigarettes, spilled booze and blood, and the bodily fluids of the creatures he helped Buffy to Slay. Despite his claim of a superior sense of smell, the vampire never seemed to notice the gradually emerging reek. Nor had he been inclined to do a load of wash, when the girls finally dared to suggest it.   
  
One evening, while the vampire showered, Willow seized just about Spike's entire wardrobe (except his beloved duster and 1460 eight-hole Docs). She briefly considered burning everything, but compromised on a run through the washer with a double dose of detergent. To the former witch's dismay, the only one who seemed even remotely pleased was Dawn. Spike actually didn't care whether he had clean clothing or not, but the other Scoobies were upset.   
  
"Wil, I'm trying to get Spike to leave!" Buffy moaned. "You're making it too comfy for him here."  
  
Giles agreed. He hadn't yet fully recovered from when the vampire stayed at his apartment three years earlier. Spike had blared the stereo at all hours, stripped the Watcher's cupboards bare, broken treasured keepsakes, and generally created such chaos that it was only the promise of more information about the Initiative that kept him from personally staking the bleached pest. To that end, he had put up with the Violent Femmes, empty bottles of Jack Daniels, and rings of dried blood on the coffee table. But he had not, he said emphatically, ever done Spike's laundry.  
  
Xander's reaction was the worse. He had resumed his threats of staking the vampire. The construction worker, too had once suffered through Spike as a house guest. But he didn't have to dredge up those memories to become irate. He hated the fact that the vampire was still in the house a month after Raven's death. With Rack's sister gone and no obvious immediate threat looming, Spike was no longer needed as a watchdog. So, Xander couldn't understand why Buffy hadn't kicked the vampire out.   
  
Dawn decided that it was time for a mini-lecture on personal hygiene. "Showering alone isn't good enough. You gotta wash your clothes, too. Especially your socks. You probably can get away with wearing the jeans all week, but the same t-shirt, yuck! " Dawn shuddered. "At least alternate with another shirt."  
  
Spike gave her a rueful look. "Can't. All my other clothes were blown to bits when Red's little friend demolished my crypt."  
  
"That's no excuse. Borrow something from Xander."  
  
The vampire gave Dawn a "get real" look.  
  
"Well, then steal something. Something clean." The teen emphasized.  
  
Spike lifted an eyebrow.   
  
"Okay, I'll ask Buffy if we can borrow her Mastercard again."  
  
"Uh, don't bother Nibblet." Spike said nervously. "I think I've gotten the hang of laundry."  
  
Dawn smiled. "Good. But that still leaves you with only one outfit."  
  
"No matter. Used to it. I travel light." He quipped.  
  
"Not buying it. The only traveling you've done in the last two years was to Africa and back. And you used to own at least four hundred CDs. What gives with clothes?"  
  
Spike fiddled with his tumbler of blood. He looked at the Smallville calendar on the kitchen wall. Anything to avoid answering the question.  
  
Dawn hated when the vampire was like this."Tell me or I'll let Buffy know that Willow is still doing your laundry even though she promised to stop."  
  
"You're a manipulative little bint, aren't you." Spike grimaced. "Must be in the genes." He slugged back the last of the blood. "Okay, way back in 1892, when I was still just a fledgling..."  
  
***  
  
Angelus was displeased. He hadn't spoken yet, but William knew from the sulfur yellow tint to his Grand-sire's eyes. He wondered if there would be a lecture before or after the beating.   
  
"Boy, did I not make myself clear when I said to mind the starch."  
  
That was the problem, he wanted to protest. Angelus hadn't made it clear whether "mind the starch" meant that he wanted more or less or it in his shirts. And considering that he'd been given the directive while he was being flogged for some other transgression, William hadn't thought to ask for any clarification.  
  
"Well, speak up then!" Angelus thundered. "Any other time, ye'd be jabbering on and on. But now ye canna give me an answer."  
  
Was there an extra hint of Irish lilt in the older vampire's voice? Definitely a bad sign. The heavier the accent, the more likely his Master had been drinking. Or worse still, was unconsciously acting out some scene from his own miserable upbringing.   
  
If Angelus was just intoxicated, then there was some chance that William might still get away with only a light thrashing. However, if his Grandsire was caught in reverie, the punishment could last hours, even days as Angelus sought to exorcise the memories of abuse at his father's hands.  
  
"I said, answer me, boy!" Yes, the sibilants were slurred somewhat. William breathed a sigh of relief. He could handle a drunken Angelus. Well, sort of. It was all a matter of acting as if he was truly, deeply repentant.  
  
He knelt at his Master's feet, head bent. The very picture of submission. "I am heartily sorry for having disobeyed you, Sire.  
  
The sudden pain at the back of his skull was a subtle hint that Angelus wasn't drunk enough to buy the act. As he lay on the floor with his head spinning, William was dimly aware of that Angelus was sprinkling his stream of curses with specific phrases such as "mad to play me for a fool" and "yer as piss-poor an actor as ye were a poet". However, he wasn't paying much attention to these execrations, as it seemed that he was moving. Ah, yes, he thought as Angelus threw him across the room, that was a brilliant plan, William.  
  
He had lost the better part of his sense of direction when his eardrums ruptured. However, by counting the number of times his head thumped against the stairs, William supposed that His Grandsire was taking him upstairs to the attic laundry room rather than downstairs to the basement flagellary.   
  
Someone less well acquainted with the older vampire's inventiveness might have felt some relief at this destination. William was merely grateful that whatever was about to befall him would take place away from the minions' prying eyes.  
  
***  
  
Willow opened the basement door. She had just put Spike's clothes in the dryer. Relieved that the chore was almost over, she decided to start making the blondies. To her surprise, the vampire and Dawn were seated at the kitchen table.   
  
The teen was leaning forward with a puzzled look on her face. "Sooo, what happened? What did Angelus do then?"  
  
"Yeah, Spike, what happened." Willow said dryly.  
  
Spike swallowed. "He, um, punished me right proper."  
  
***  
Buffy chewed a fingernail nervously. She hated to bother Anya, but this sort of thing was outside of her experience. To her horror, the latest bank statement declared that her account had hemorrhaged nearly a thousand dollars.  
  
Anya spread the papers out on the table. "I've gone over everything three times, Buffy. The numbers don't lie. Supporting Spike is costing you almost $200 a week."  
  
For what seemed like an eternity, Buffy couldn't speak. "How is that possible? Pigs' blood is so cheap."  
  
"And we know he's not spending it on detergent and fabric softener." Willow said with a shudder.  
  
Anya held up a spreadsheet print out. "Well, it's not just the pigs' blood. On average, Spike's eating a box of Weetabix, two tins of extra salty kipper snacks, and a package of Jacob's Cream Biscuits a week. Plus, all the take-out he cons Dawn into buying. That's $30.09."  
  
The vengeance demon pointed to a section that was highlighted in bright orange. "Look at all the QuikMart purchases he's put on your credit card. A pack of cigarettes a day. That's seven packs a week...close to fifty dollars. A fifth of Jack Daniels every few days. Designer hair gel." She shook her head. "Does Spike know Suave is just as good? I know that his hair is probably pretty dry and coarse from all that bleach, but that's no excuse for paying seventeen dollars a tube."  
  
Buffy put her head down while Anya continued to list the various expenditures. "Sunnydale Public Library charged you for a lost copy of something called The 'Autobiography of a Flea'. I didn't know Spike was interested in insects."  
  
"I didn't know Spike could read," added Xander.  
  
"Well, evidently not very well." Anya shuffled the other papers until she found a receipt. "See, he rented the movie, too. Nine days of late fees." She tsked. "I could understand if the book was late and then he lost the video. But it just doesn't make sense this other way around."  
  
Giles didn't think it was his place to explain to the young people that The ;Autobiography of a Flea' was an infamous nineteenth-century erotic novel made over into one of the only decent porn movies to come out of the late 1970s. Luckily, Anya moved on to the next item.  
  
"A purebred Siamese kitten from 'Polly's Pet Emporium'." She looked puzzled. "I haven't seen a kitten at your house, Buffy. Does he keep it in the basement?  
  
Willow whispered something in Anya's ear. The vengeance demon pursed her lips and scribbled something on the bill.   
  
Finally, only one slip of paper remained. Anya apologized as she handed it over. "It's handwritten and I just can't make out all the words. I'm not even sure that it's a receipt."  
  
Buffy took the scrap, then immediately dropped it onto the table. "Ewww, is that blood?" As the Scoobies peered in disgust at the rust-colored thumbprint, she squinted. "I think that says 'Ink Slingers' Ball'."  
  
No one had any idea what that was, so Willow fired up her computer. A few seconds later, the redhead wrinkled her forehead. "It's a three-day body art festival in Redondo Beach."  
  
Buffy shook her head. "I must be wrong. Spike doesn't have any tattoos."  
  
Willow gave her a frank look. "Are you sure?"  
  
Buffy's cheeks flamed. "None in the usual places, at least."  
  
"Hmm," Willow mused.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing." Willow giggled.  
  
The blonde rolled her eyes. "Tell me what it is!"  
  
Willo shrugged. "It's just that body art includes piercing."   
  
"Yes, piercings." Anya chimed in. "Those don't have to be in the usual places. There's nipple rings. And what are those things called, honey? Love beads?"  
  
It was Xander's turn to blush.  
  
"Good Lord." Giles stood up, trying to remember if he had enough frequent flier miles for a four-day weekend in London.  
  
"What am I going to do?" Buffy moaned.  
  
"You could dust him." Xander said. "Or let me do it," he added helpfully.  
  
Everyone ignored him.  
  
"Buffy." Giles sighed. "Spike is fully recovered. Raven is dead. Why haven't you moved him out?"  
  
"Don't you think I've tried!" Buffy's voice rose with exasperation. "I put him out at sunset every night. He's back at five or six AM every morning. I've told him that he has a home, but it's a different excuse every time. The new crypt we found is too cold. Ants have invaded it. He owes someone money and they're looking for him. I even read the revocation spell once, but of course Dawn invited him back in."  
  
Giles took of his glasses and polished them before he spoke. "Dawn has acquired a very expensive pet." The Watcher said lightly. "Perhaps you should have let her keep the Japanese fighting fish."  
  
"There's a simple solution." Anya said.  
  
"Finally," Xander interjected. "Mr. Pointy, this is the moment you've been waiting for."  
  
Anya took a breath. "Spike should get a job."  
  
***  
Continued in Chapter 2 


	2. Chapter 2

Payback By iyaorisha  
  
Timing: AU S7  
  
Pairings: Buffy/Spike (also Xander/Anya)  
  
Summary: Spike gets a job. Buffy runs afoul of a brother-sister team of demon bounty hunters. (This is the third story in a series of four. Read "Look What Love Gave Us" and "Unmoved -the Fic" first.)  
  
Rating/Warnings: R. Violence, language, rape flashback, torture flashback, and M/F sexuality.  
  
Spoilers: None if you've seen S6. References to "FFL", "Lovers' Walk", the trade novel "Pretty Maids All in a Row", and my fanfics "Relating to a Psychopath", "Look What Love Gave Us" and "Unmoved -the Fic"  
  
Disclaimer: None of the BtVS characters or the world they inhabit belong to me. They belong to Joss and I promise to put them back when I'm done playing with them.  
  
Feedback: Brutal honesty is best (I enjoy floggings, I really do), but warm fuzzies are accepted as well. You can post a review here or email me at fanfic_by_iyaorisha@yahoo.com  
  
***  
  
Chapter 2  
  
"Bugger this." Spike threw down his cigarette butt and stalked away. He got about five steps before a hand landed on the collar of his duster and hauled him back.  
  
"Hey, watch the leather." He complained as Buffy threw him to the ground.  
  
"Spike, I'm going to count to three." She held up three fingers. "And when I'm done, you're gonna be inside the Alibi asking Willy for a job."  
  
"I'll starve first." The bleached vampire said with as much dignity as he could muster lying on his back in the alley with the Slayer standing over him.  
  
"No, you won't." Buffy hissed. "Because that would upset Dawn. If she's upset, she might not do well on the SATs. And, if she gets anything below a 1200, I may have to dust you."  
  
"Really," Spike smirked. "Cause that might upset the Little Bit, too." He picked himself up. "So, why don't we just go home now and I'll even help her with studying the maths section. I know that's not your strong suit."  
  
Buffy protested. "I did perfectly well on both sections of the SATs. I didn't *have* to go to U of Sunnydale, you know. I could have gone to Berkeley or BU. And I would have done great in college if it wasn't for all the distractions of Slaying -many of which you orchestrated, I might add. Hey!" The petite blonde's eyes narrowed. "You're doing it now."  
  
"Doing what?" Spike said and gave her a look of utter innocence.  
  
"You're distracting me. Get your ass in the bar before I kick it in there."  
  
Ah well, it was worth a shot, Spike thought as he pushed open the door to Willy's Alibi. His preternatural eyes adjusted instantly to the bar's dark and smoky interior. Spotting Willy polishing glasses, the vampire sauntered up to the counter. "Usual." He said gruffly as he flipped his duster out and sat on a barstool. The patrons nearest to him, a Gmulek demon and a rather fat fledgling got up and moved away. Spike laughed softly. Soul or no soul, he still had it.  
  
Willy set the glass of blood and vodka in front of Spike and stepped back. He knew better than to ask Spike to pay upfront. Still, he couldn't help but hope the vampire wouldn't run up a big tab tonight. Spike paid his bar bill irregularly at best. Plus, he tended to pick fights more often when he had been drinking heavily. In the past two years, Willy had replaced most of the glassware at the Alibi because of the brawls started by the peroxided menace. Only the Slayer had trashed the place more often. And, she didn't seem inclined to pay for the repairs either.  
  
"I got a proposition for you, mate." Spike said once he'd downed half the glass.  
  
"What?" Willy said nervously.  
  
"Slayer says I have to get a job. She thinks you could use a bouncer. So," the vampire paused and grinned," I figure you make a big show of telling me that I'm irresponsible and would frighten away your best customers. She'll over hear you. And I'm off the hook."  
  
"Um." Willy said.  
  
"I know, you're wondering what's in it for you." Spike shook his head with mock disappointment. "What is the world coming to when one man won't do a simple favor for another without thought of personal gain."  
  
The vampire knocked back the remainder of his drink. "Hmm, what compensation can I offer for your acting skills." He reached into his pocket and took out a scrap of paper. Willy's heart raced when the barman recognized the columns of numbers.  
  
Spike grinned. "Let's say that I pay 25% of my tab if you don't hire me."  
  
"Uh, Spike." the barman stuttered.  
  
"If you make it a really convincing show of your utter unwillingness to even consider hiring me, I'll make it 30%. Now that would be." The vampire bent his white blond head over the slip and began calculating.  
  
"Er..."  
  
Spike looked up in annoyance. He really *wasn't* good at maths and all Willy's hemming and hawing was breaking his concentration. "What is it?"  
  
Willy pointed. The vampire turned to see a very pissed off Buffy standing behind him. "I think he's trying to tell you that I've been standing behind you for the past five minutes."  
  
"Bollocks!"  
  
Buffy gave Willy a look that she hoped conveyed her regret about what she was about to say. "Spike starts night after next. The Alibi's heaviest hours are 9:00 PM to midnight, but you'll want someone on hand until closing. So, we'll say nine to three AM Tuesday through Saturday. $13 an hour is fair. And one meal or a pint of blood on the house. No booze on the clock of course. And he won't need medical, social security, or retirement."  
  
Willy and Spike both stared at her in dismay. She gave them her sunniest smile.  
  
"Oh, and one more thing. Spike'll need something that identifies him as the bouncer. He's caused enough havoc in this place that people will think he's just being his usual annoying self." Buffy thought for a moment. "How about a t-shirt that says 'Security' on the front and back. Actually, I advise five of them. Spike's not great about laundry." Buffy shuddered delicately. "You get the shirts and take the cost out of his first paycheck. And, Willy, deduct his bar bill too. Say a fifth now; the rest in the next four paychecks."  
  
When Willy thought about it, it wasn't such a bad idea. Even if the vampire only lasted a few nights, he'd have recouped some of the tab. For Spike's sake, he made a show of nodding with great reluctance. But when the bleached vampire turned away in disgust, Willy winked at Buffy. She winked back.  
  
Spike had a job.  
  
***  
  
"Dis job blows," the girl complained.  
  
The man beside her grunted in agreement, but his gaze never wavered.  
  
"We kin afford ta be picky, y'know," she continued.  
  
He didn't respond. His finger was already tightening on the trigger.  
  
Her next comment was lost in the crack of the rifle, but neither seemed to care. They were moving swiftly now, down from the rock ledge and onto the cracked surface of the former lakebed. Salt crunched noisily underfoot, but stealth was no longer of concern.  
  
The body was still, sprawled awkwardly with a sizable puddle expanding from the head.  
  
The girl resumed her litany of complaints as she grabbed a leg and started pulling the body towards what had once been the shore. The man shook his head, amused. Venting was just Bella's way of relaxing as a job came to an end. Personally, he wouldn't start to unwind until they were counting the money.  
  
She stopped and glared at him. "Are ya fixin' ta stand der gapin' r'what?"  
  
"Sorry, cher." He took the other leg and together they hauled the body to the waiting grave. Before the body was dumped in, Rafe knelt and used his machete to sever the head. He lobbed it to Bella who deftly caught it in a 2-gallon Ziploc bag. She pulled the little purple zipper to seal the bag and then tossed it aside. Together, they had the body buried in a few minutes but Bella groused the entire time. "Three days a waitin' out here in de middle a nowhere. Ah wus 'bout ta die uh boredom. 'N' all he wants is de head? What's he gonna do wid it?"  
  
He ignored this particular complaint. Bella knew it was easier this way. The head would go in a cooler of dry ice so it wouldn't rot during the long drive to Matamoros where his client's majordomo waited to confirm the kill. As to what man's boss would do with the grisly thing afterwards, he'd rather not know. The client was Anselmo Molinero Sanz, a prosperous rancher with an odd hobby -collecting and auctioning off occult objects. It didn't pay to know much more about him. And Rafe was all about getting paid. So long as the bounty was paid in unmarked non-sequential American greenbacks, he'd never even think about this job again.  
  
Bella was another story. When it came to bounty-hunting, she cared more about the excitement than the money. Her pretty brown face wore a pout as they walked away from the grave.  
  
Rafael Metoyer could stalk and trap any living creature without an ounce of guilt getting in his way. But he hated disappointing his little sister.  
  
"Next 'un won't be so borin' dawlin," he promised. "We're headin' ta da Hellmouth."  
  
*** Spike protested for an entire day. But, thanks to Dawn, Buffy had a strong immunity to temper tantrums. Eventually, Spike comforted himself with the fact that at least he didn't have to wear a soddin' uniform like Buffy's DMP outfit.  
  
It turned out that Willy had a cousin, Fat Eddie who owned a silk-screening business. In exchange for a keg of beer, he made up five shirts. To Willy and Buffy's consternation, Fat Eddie let Spike pick the design. The vampire wouldn't even tell them what it was. Buffy understood why when she picked the shirts up the next afternoon.  
  
The shirts were form-fitting Ts with the words "Security" printed across the front and "Willy's Alibi" on the back. The lettering was in a font that looked like dripping blood. Two of the shirts were black and two were heather gray, both with bright red lettering. The fifth was bright red with black lettering.  
  
Buffy told Spike he could wear his black jeans with the shirts. Willow reminded her that Spike still hadn't gotten the hang of the washing machine, so Buffy offered to take him shopping for two more pairs of jeans.  
  
As they entered the mall, Buffy felt herself begin to relax. This was her favorite public place in Sunnydale. The brightly lit stores and food court soothed her the way lavender essential oil and the Lite Jazz station pacified the harried soccer moms she saw at the drive-through window at the DMP. By the time they passed the Kremie Kone stand, she was so calm that even the thought of more Spike-related charges on her credit card didn't spoil her mood.  
  
It was weird to think that the last time she'd been here with Spike, he, Dru, and Angelus had been trying to destroy the world by unleashing the Judge, a demon whose touch burned the souls right out of humans. Now the blond vampire had a soul himself and he was sworn to be on his best behavior.  
  
Buffy didn't put much stock in Spike's promises, but he did put out his cigarette at the mall entrance when she pointed at the little sign. And he wasn't snarling at the perfume sample ladies or the frat boys collecting change for MS. Nor was he sneaking anything into the capacious pockets of his duster. She supposed that he was really making an effort to behave.  
  
Still, it was strange how most sales clerks reacted when they entered a shop.  
  
No one greeted them or asked if they wanted to save 10 percent off their purchases today by applying for a store charge card.  
  
In fact, quite a few employees suddenly decided to do inventory or take a coffee break when they entered a store.  
  
After a clerk at the Gap turned green at the sight of Spike, Buffy felt enough of a pattern has been established to warrant a few answers. "Is there something you want to tell me?" she gritted out while smiling at the trembling girl.  
  
Spike shrugged and sauntered out. She followed him, berating herself for thinking that a shopping expedition or any activity with the platinum blond nuisance could be simple and easy.  
  
To his credit, Spike currently wasn't doing anything more outrageous than rifling through a stack of jeans at the back of the Levi's store. He pulled down a pair, stared at the tag and casually threw it back on the shelf. It slid off and fell to the floor. Seconds later, another pair joined it. Soon there was a little pile around his Docs.  
  
Normally, that sort of wanton destruction of a display would have merited a not-so-subtle offer of assistance. Instead, a gaggle of teenage clerks stood by the front counter and watched nervously as Spike yanked pair after pair of black denims from the shelves. From their behavior, it was obvious that they wouldn't have approached if Buffy and Spike had started walking out the door with armfuls of merchandise.  
  
"You've been in here before," she half-whispered.  
  
"Yeah." The vampire made a half-hearted attempt to refold a pair of jeans and then tossed them atop the rumpled pile. "Once. A while back."  
  
Buffy took a deep breath. "Do you know how I know?"  
  
Spike raised a dark eyebrow. "You were following me?"  
  
"No!" she said scornfully. "It's pretty obvious that you made a big impression on the employees."  
  
"Really?" he grinned and shot a particularly devilishly scowl at the terrified clerks. They all gasped a little, a sound that brought a scrawny middle aged man with a comb-over out of an office behind the front counter. He stopped glaring when one of the clerks pointed toward Buffy and Spike. The man stared as if in shock and then angrily said something to the teens that sent them scattering. Each found a separate display area in the store -as far from Spike as possible it seemed - and then pretended to be busy straightening piles of clothing.  
  
Buffy couldn't stand it. "Spike, what happened when you were here before?"  
  
"Manager's a big poof." He turned and pointed at the man, who blanched and sidled closer to his little office.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
Another shrug, this one made her want to take a swing at his white blond head. "He kept following me. Then he pestered me in the dressing room." He pulled yet another pair of jeans off the shelf.  
  
Buffy looked aghast. "What did he do?"  
  
"Kept knocking on the door and asking if I was okay." The vampire muttered as he threw the jeans back in favor of a tighter pair.  
  
"That's his job, Spike." She breathed with relief. The manager looked so much like her third grade Sunday School teacher that she hated to think he was a craven sex offender. The poor man really looked distressed every time he glanced their way.  
  
"Spike, what did you do when the manager knocked on the door."  
  
"Don't remember, luv. It was last year."  
  
That made Buffy feel a little better. With the chip in, Spike couldn't have done but so much mayhem. "Look, just pick a couple pairs of jeans out and try them on before we give the manager a stroke. And remember to use a cubicle with a door so no one notices that you don't have a reflection."  
  
As she watched him walk into the dressing room, Buffy hoped Spike was wearing underwear.  
  
***  
  
Dawn was excited about Spike's first night at work. She babbled through dinner about her own new job at the local Jamba Juice. Spike didn't bother to tell her that door security was a far cry from whipping up fruit juice concoctions. Truth was, he was grateful for the distraction.  
  
Spike hadn't held a job in well over a century. Not since the evening when he let a pretty young woman bite him on the neck in a filthy London alley and then failed to show up at his brother's accounting firm the next day. The vampire supposed that long-ago business of knocking off all those Slayers-in-waiting in exchange for Freya's necklace could be considered a job of sorts. But it had been so much fun, tramping across war-torn Europe with Dru to hunt those little girls, each one more luscious than the next. He wouldn't have done it just for the necklace, let alone money.  
  
Bouncing at Willy's was all about money, he thought morosely.  
  
"Eight fifteen, Spike." Buffy stood up. "Time for us to go."  
  
"Us?" *Was she coming, too?* He curled his lip in feigned disgust. "You're not going to sit at Willy's all night watching me."  
  
Buffy laughed. "Hardly. I've got patrol. But I am going to make sure that you get there tonight. And on time."  
  
Spike tossed down the dregs of blood in his cup before placing it in the sink. The vampire never cleared his own place, but tonight he was willing to do anything to stall. He slid into his duster and hugged Dawn goodbye. The teen was suddenly all trembly worrying that Spike might get hurt. "I'll be fine, Little Bit! I'm hoping some dumb git will take a swing at me."  
  
"Good luck Spike." Willow said shyly.  
  
"Thanks, Red."  
  
Willow patted him on the back and for a crazy moment, Spike almost hugged her, too.  
  
"Come on, Spike." Buffy looked at her watch. "If you aren't on time, Willy gets to dock your pay. You don't want that"  
  
To his annoyance, Spike didn't want that. "I'm a bleedin' wage slave." He muttered as he walked out into the night.  
  
***  
  
The first hour was agonizingly slow.  
  
Being undead there wasn't an income tax withholding forms or anything of that sort to fill out, but Willy seemed determined to give his new employee an orientation. To Spike's annoyance, the bartender made a big show out of introducing him to the only other employee, Puddy the dishwasher and pointing out various "amenities."  
  
"You can hang up your coat in here." Willy indicated a dilapidated locker. The door was adorned with a little brass rectangle labeled "Frank". Willy pulled at it until the nameplate hung by one corner. "Sorry, " he muttered. "I'll get a screwdriver." The vampire curled his lip in disgust and ripped the name plate off. He stared at it for a moment, envying "Frank" who'd had the sense to get away from Willy's. "Uh, do you want that Spike," Willy ventured.  
  
"No." Spike tossed the little bit of brass over his shoulder. It narrowly missed Puddy. Then he hung his duster up carefully.  
  
Spike wasn't sure that he had ever been in the Alibi without a drink before. The place was even more boring than usual without alcohol and the possibility of starting a fine brawl at the nights' end. He began chain- smoking to combat the mind-numbing effects of employment.  
  
Human or demon, Willy's core clientele tended to be sluggish. The majority quietly paid for their intoxicant of choice and sat nursing it in the dark booths. Less antisocial patrons might sit at the bar, trying to strike up a chat and occasionally chancing the limited menu of deep fried fare. Ill- advised behavior, but hardly Spike's worry. Evidently, the rowdier crowd he was being paid to watch out for didn't materialize until late.  
  
It was during his first break that Spike wished that he had thought to ask Clem to stop by. They might have shared a plate of wings, even played a hand of poker. Instead, he sat at the bar, staring at a rapidly cooling mug of blood and trying to ignore an old man who was insisting that he had been abducted by aliens in 1936. Spike began to wonder if having a soul meant that he couldn't plot revenge against the Slayer for getting him this job.  
  
Around ten-fifteen, a quartet of vampire bikers trooped in. They gave Spike dirty looks as they ordered blood with Stroh's chasers. He grinned back invitingly, but was disappointed when they drank quickly and left.  
  
At five to one, he heard a bottle break and the high, thin sound that passed for a battle roar among Nusklin demons. Finally! Spike slid off the stool and headed into the back of the bar.  
  
*** Buffy strolled by Willy's at quarter to three. Spike was perched on his stool in the doorway. He had a black eye and was grinning broadly.  
  
"Slayer!" he greeted her with delight. "If I had known that working was so much fun, I would have done this weeks ago," the vampire crowed. "I thrashed two vampires and a Nusklin demon tonight. I should be paying Willy."  
  
The petite blonde rolled her eyes. "There's more to door security than beating up unruly patrons."  
  
"Who said they were unruly?" Spike smirked.  
  
"Really, Spike." Buffy used her I'm-being-serious voice. "You gotta call cabs for the humans who drink too much. Make sure the tipsy girl demons really want to go home with the horny guy demons. That sorta thing."  
  
The vampire looked crestfallen. Buffy surprised herself by reaching out to pat him on the shoulder. "Hey, you survived your first night on the job."  
  
"You stopped by to check up on me." He said accusingly.  
  
"Nope."  
  
"What are you doing here, then?"  
  
"I thought I'd walk you home," she said softly.  
  
Spike blinked.  
  
"You get off in ten minutes. I'll be back in fifteen, okay. Just gonna patrol the block one more time." The vampire nodded. "Great." Buffy smiled, before she walked away. Before she turned the corner, she paused. "Spike?"  
  
"Yeah, Slayer?"  
  
"I'm. proud of you."  
  
Spike climbed down from the stool and stared after her. The night just kept getting better and better. Maybe having a job wasn't so bad after all. 


End file.
